Bird in the Hand
by Darthanne
Summary: Quatre's used to being underestimated, but that doesn't mean he likes it. Walking off his frustration from the day, he ends up teaching a group of kidnappers that appearances can be deceiving and sometimes the bird in the hand is more dangerous to have.


Bird in the Hand (1/1)

by Anne Olsen

Ratings/warnings etc: OK (Oz/Kiwi spelling/grammar etc) – PG13 – Action, drama, angst, Quatre whumping, post canon timeline. Quatre POV.

Author's notes: This fic is for Misanagi. We were talking about, and she was complaining about, the sad lack of Quatre whumping ficcage so I promised to write one for her. She, Hex and I worked out the basics of the plot on AIM, and then Quatre, in his usual fashion ran with it and took over. :P

And yes, this takes place later in the same time line as the drabble 'Shut Up'

Pairing: 1x4

Summary: Quatre's used to being underestimated, but that doesn't mean he likes it. Walking off his frustration from the day, he ends up teaching a group of kidnappers that appearances can be deceiving and sometimes the bird in the hand is more dangerous to have.

( The 'bird' part is a somewhat Air Force derived reference to Quatre being a pilot. )

Archive: 

Disclaimer: Gundam Wing belongs to Bandai, Sunrise and Sotsu Agency. I promise to return the characters in one piece, more or less, when I'm finished, but hold no liability for any broken bones or psychological trauma sustained by them in my fiction.

Thanks to: The beta reading team: Bast, haraamis and Misanagi. Also to Shadow for the title and summary plus her ongoing support, and Hex for plottage and wanting more.

Dedication: For Misanagi

Comments to: anneo 

I shivered, pulling the collar of my coat up around my neck in an attempt to stay warm. This was ridiculous. Although I could understand the reasoning behind the illusion of changing seasons on the colony, there was no need for it to be this cold, especially at this time of year.

But then it was my own fault that I was wandering the streets late at night in this weather. I'd had the option of staying home in front of a warm fire, but after a particularly frustrating day, I'd needed to get out into the fresh air in order to clear my head and walk off some of my frustration. I was tired of gritting my teeth and politely reminding the board of directors at Winner Enterprises that despite my age, /I/ was CEO and more than capable of running my father's company.

Heero, in his usual practical manner, had pointed out that, as we were living on L4, the air was recycled and not fresh, but I chose to ignore him. As much as I loved him, some of his habits were annoying, especially his tendency towards practicality and logic. While I wasn't lacking in those traits myself, there were days when I needed to remind myself to dream, and to allow my imagination to roam freely.

He had also asked if I wanted company, but I'd declined. I would only be gone for an hour at the most and the programming job he was working on was more important than my need to feel sorry for myself. "I'll phone you if I need saving from myself," I'd told him with a grin, and he'd rolled his eyes.

"Or if someone is stupid enough to try to mug you, I'll save them from you," Heero had retorted, dryly. "Go, enjoy your walk. There will be hot coffee waiting when you get back"

I paused at the entrance to an alleyway and rubbed my hands together, wishing that I'd remembered my gloves. Heero's promise of hot coffee sounded wonderful; it was time to head for home, and a relaxing evening. Hopefully he'd finished what he'd been working on and I could convince him to help me warm up in a nice hot bath.

"Please…don't!" The man's plea snapped me out of my musings, and I was immediately in battle stance. Even now, five years after the wars, I hadn't lost the automatic reactions that we'd all honed so well during our time as Gundam pilots. Reaching for a weapon I no longer carried, I cursed under my breath, realising that I would have to rely on my other skills to defuse the situation.

I narrowed my eyes, trying to work out where the voice had come from. A movement to my left confirmed a scuffle of some kind at the far end of the alley, and I broke into a run, taking care to keep to the cover of the shadows. While I was not prepared to do nothing while someone might be in trouble, it would be poor strategy to charge into a potentially dangerous situation unarmed.

Three men encircled another; their captive was backed against the wall of one of the surrounding buildings, his eyes wild. However, he seemed resigned to his fate; if he had struggled against capture earlier there was no hint of it in his current demeanor.

"Betraying your friends isn't nice." The man with the gun spoke with a lazy drawl; he seemed almost bored by the situation. "We run a tight operation, and in order to continue to do so, we can't tolerate insubordination on this level." He shook his head. "Running is such a fruitless endeavour. I expected more of you, Peters, and to think that I had such high hopes for you…"

Peters shook his head, suddenly putting on a show of bravery. "Just get on with it, Mercer. I'm sorry that I haven't killed my conscience enough to live up to your expectations, but I can't be a part of your extortion and kidnapping plans. My only regret is that I wasn't able to warn your intended victim." He bit his lip and closed his eyes.

Taking a deep breath, I stepped forward out of shadows. Part of me knew that this was foolish, but my conscience wouldn't allow me to choose any other course of action. Peters didn't have the time that it would take me to retreat and phone for help, and although I was unarmed, I didn't have to inform them of that fact.

"Put down your weapon and move away," I ordered in a cold voice, keeping one hand in my pocket to give the illusion of an unseen weapon.

The men turned, and Mercer chuckled. "What have we here?" he sneered. "Some rich guy deciding to play vigilante?" He ran his eye over me, no doubt noticing the cut of my expensive woolen coat. It was a shame that appearances could be so deceiving. It really didn't pay to judge people by the way they dressed. Yes, I was rich, and while I didn't flaunt it, I didn't see why I should freeze my butt off in winter when I could afford to keep warm with some degree of style.

"I have no intention of playing," I replied, taking a step closer. Mercer stood at about six feet tall, topping me by three inches. He was also heavily built, but while I was slender, I knew how to handle myself in physical combat. Piloting a Gundam required a certain degree of upper body strength, and I had also made a point of working out regularly since stepping down from full time Preventer work.

The man to Mercer's right was already breathing heavily; he brushed back his hair out of his eyes in a nervous gesture, his gaze flickering between Mercer and me. This was a man who followed orders rather than gave them. I doubted that he would present much of a challenge.

"You have no idea who you are dealing with, kid," the third man sneered. I glared at him, and rolled my eyes.

"Neither do you," I retorted, allowing a hint of annoyance to enter my voice. He was too sure of himself and his abilities, I decided. The knife in his hand could be a problem but not one that I hadn't dealt with before. Three against one. Yes, the odds were decidedly in my favour.

I turned slightly, giving the impression that I was turning my back on them. As expected, the man with the knife took a step towards me. I swung my left leg in a fast spinning kick, connecting with his stomach to send him crashing into the wall. Mercer nodded, and his companion leered at me. I raised my eyebrow, noting with some satisfaction the hesitation in his eyes after I had done so.

Pivoting on the balls of my feet, I positioned my hands in front of me, ready to defend myself. Heero and I had spent hours sparring; there was no way that this idiot in front of me could match the ability of my usual opponent. Predictably, the man lunged, and I calmly sidestepped, allowing the momentum of his own body to propel him off balance. As he passed me, I delivered a sharp kick to his backside, and he connected with the pavement with a sickening crunch.

"Still think I'm playing?" I asked Mercer, before glancing towards the man twitching on the pavement. By the angle of his arm, he appeared to have broken it during the fall. I held out my hand. "Give me the gun and this doesn't have to go further."

He shrugged and placed the gun in the waistband of his trousers. He then dropped to his knees and bent over the man lying by his feet. "I have no intention of this going further," he replied. Resting one hand on the wall, he pulled himself back into a standing position. I watched him carefully, knowing that he was giving in too quickly to my demands.

"Move away from him," I ordered, after Mercer took a step towards Peters.

"Or you'll do what?" Mercer's hand came back and something metal glinted in the dim light. Too late I remembered the knife.

"Move," I yelled at Peters, but the man stood there frozen.

Grabbing my cell-phone from my pocket, I hurled it through the air and towards the knife but missed. The phone hit the wall and fell to the ground in pieces. Heero was going to be seriously pissed off; he'd given me that phone for my birthday.

I leapt forward, slamming Mercer against the wall, and kneed him in the groin. He swore at me and tried to reach down for the gun in his waistband. I was quicker. "When I give an order, follow it," I hissed at him, before repeating my previous action. Raising the gun, I hit him over the head with it and sent him into unconsciousness.

Peters gasped and glanced down at his stomach. I followed his gaze; there was a red stain spreading across his shirt. "Damn it," I muttered, berating my inability to move fast enough.

"Thanks for trying to help," he murmured, sliding down the wall in a crumpled heap. "I guess…" His voice trailed off, and he gave me a strained smile.

"It's okay, I've got you." I was by his side in an instant, easing him into a more comfortable position. I looked around, trying to find something to staunch the bleeding. If the knife hadn't hit a vital organ, there was still a chance that his injury wouldn't be lethal. Quickly I removed my coat and placed it around his shoulders. He was only wearing a shirt and trousers, which was little protection against the cold. I then removed my sweater, and used it as a dressing, applying pressure on the wound. It wouldn't be wise to remove the knife; better to leave that for the medics. If only I still had my cell-phone I could have called for help. He wasn't in a state to be left, but I couldn't let him bleed to death in front of me either.

"I don't know your name," Peters whispered, one hand gripping the collar of my shirt and pulling me towards him.

"It's Quatre," I replied. "Quatre Winner."

"Winner?" Peters shook his head, his voice hoarse. "You need to go… please." He let go of my shirt and tried to push me away. "Before it's too late."

"I'm not leaving you," I insisted. "You're injured." I surveyed the alley again; it was only a matter of time before Mercer and his men regained consciousness.

There was the sound of footsteps behind me, and I spun, reaching into my pocket for Mercer's gun, only to remember that I'd given my coat to Peters.

The man in front of me was heavily armed, as were his companions.

Slowly, I raised my hands in the universe sign of surrender. This time I was outnumbered and I knew it.

He took a step forward and pressed his gun against my temple, the cold steel sending a shiver through me. "Mr. Winner, how very convenient to make your acquaintance." He smiled; I could feel the stench of his breath against my cheek before he turned to address the men behind him. "Fate appears to be on our side…"

I glared at the door as it slammed shut leaving me alone in the dim light. Twisting my head and pulling against the ropes that tied me to the low-hanging rafters, I examined the room my captors had left me in. Apart from the desk jammed against the wall in the far corner it was empty, and the musty smell in the air suggested that it hadn't been used for some time.

The small window in the far corner didn't provide much in the way of natural light; I had been blindfolded on the trip here but knew that we hadn't traveled very far. Although my watch had been removed, and I had no idea what time it was now, it hadn't prevented me from working out how long the trip had taken. The first road they had taken had been smooth, but after turning sharply to the right, we had traveled across rough ground and onto gravel before pulling into what I presumed to be either a warehouse or an old office building.

So much for my brilliant idea of playing vigilante. I hadn't seen Peters since I had been captured, and I had no idea whether he was even still alive. As I had been attempting to prevent his murder, I wasn't feeling particularly hopeful.

Once I'd realised that I was outnumbered, I hadn't wasted any energy in trying to escape. There would be time for that later, and it is a foolish man who struggles with a gun pressed against his temple. Instead, I had switched to my Quatre Winner, rich CEO persona who had led a sheltered life, and, a little to my surprise, the idiots had bought it. The fact that Mercer and his men were sprawled unconscious at my feet was explained by a shrug and a mumbled comment about having a partner who insisted that I took self-defense classes as he wasn't always around to protect me.

The man in charge, Kirke, had raised an eyebrow in disbelief, but after I had pointed out that he had me rather at a disadvantage, he didn't push that line of questioning, much to my relief. My identity as a Gundam pilot had never been released to the public, and the longer I could convince him that I wasn't a threat, the more chance I had to escape when they lowered their guard later.

Giving Peters my name hadn't been the smartest of actions, but I'd never been one to hide who I was. Even during the war I'd introduced myself as Quatre Raberba Winner, rather than my pilot designation; I found that hiding in plain view was usually far more successful than keeping to the shadows. It was surprising how many people didn't believe when you told the truth, but preferred instead, to believe in their own version of possibilities. It was unthinkable that the only son of a known pacifist would be piloting a Gundam, and therefore I must have been using an alias. Using people's expectations against them was something I had done for most of my life, and I wasn't about to change that now.

Unfortunately, what I /hadn't/ counted on was the identity of their planned kidnapping victim. I also don't think laughing when I'd worked it out had gone in my favour either. I sighed at the memory, and decided to stick to my excuse of adrenaline and delayed reaction when I explained to Heero what had happened. If I explained it to Heero.

Giving the ropes around my wrists a half-hearted pull, I couldn't help but groan aloud. Now that I was alone, and didn't have to put on an act, it was harder to ignore in just how much trouble I was. I twisted my body again, wishing that I were as flexible as Trowa, and gasped in pain. Taking several deep breaths, I decided that, although I'd been hit hard, nothing was broken, but I knew that I would have a few bruises by the time this was over. It was one of the curses of a fair complexion. Wriggling my toes, I forced myself to stretch to see if I could reach the floor.

"Damn it." I cursed, wishing that I were two inches taller. Not being able to use my feet as leverage limited my options even further.

I screwed my eyes and tried to focus on the beam above my head. These people knew how to tie a good knot and to secure their prisoners in a way that discouraged thoughts of escape. I'd been firstly hoisted up, with my hands above the beam, and my wrists tied together, one on either side of the wood. A second rope was then hooked through the first to secure me to the beam itself. If I was going to free myself, I'd have to do it in stages, one rope at a time. Shifting my weight, I rubbed my restraints against the wood of the beam, hoping to find some roughness in the wood, something sharp in order to cut through the rope, but to no avail.

"Winner, you're an idiot," I muttered under my breath. If I'd had more sense I wouldn't be in this mess in the first place. Although there had been threats against me before, and my head of security at WEI had warned me several times that I took too many chances, I hadn't allowed his warning to dictate the way I lived my life. I'd fought two wars to gain freedom for others and I was damned if I would give up my own because of who I was. I was a Gundam pilot – I was more than capable of looking after myself.

After all, the fact that I was hanging like a trussed up turkey from a ceiling, waiting for my kidnappers to return to get video footage of me to send to my family, was proof of that, wasn't it?

I knew that once they returned, my chances of survival would take a nosedive. I could identify them, both by sight and by name. I'd dealt with kidnappers before during the time I'd spent as a hostage negotiator for Preventers and had a good idea what would happen once they had enough footage to create whatever they needed to make their demands. With the way in which technology had advanced over the past few years, it was fairly easy to continue an illusion of a healthy captive using a VR program long after their death.

I'd faced death before. We all had. This was no different.

Except that I would have preferred for my death to mean something, to have died fighting for something I believed in, not because I'd been stupid enough to allow myself to be captured by a group of kidnappers.

I sighed.

"I'm sorry, Heero," I whispered. One moment of carelessness, and now I was paying for my sloppiness. I pulled at the ropes again, but they refused to budge.

No! I wasn't going to give up. I couldn't, and I wouldn't. Kirke would find upon his return that I wasn't the cooperative victim he was expecting. If I didn't give them the footage they needed, that would buy me some time.

Glancing around the room again, a thought suddenly occurred to me and I felt a sliver of excitement. It was a long shot, but really, what did I have to lose? Flexing my fingers as much as my restraints would allow, I managed to grip both sides of the beam and pull myself up slowly. My arms straining, I eased myself towards the ceiling, only to curse when my fingers slipped and I fell with a jerk, a fire of pain shooting through my shoulders and arms.

I muttered something under my breath about the parentage of my captors and decided that maybe this hadn't been one of my better ideas. Even if I could swing my body up onto the beam, I still had no way of freeing myself from the ropes. They had taken my knife, and while they hadn't found the lock picks I still carried in the waistband of my trousers, those weren't sharp enough to cut through thick rope, even if I could have reached them.

Swinging my legs up, my foot brushed against the brickwork of the wall but not enough to get any leverage.

The brickwork! Of course. I stared at it, wondering why I'd missed something that had literally been staring me in the face since I'd been left here.

The wooden beams might be smooth, but the brickwork at the end of the beam wasn't. If I slid along the beam from my present position to where the wood connected to the brick and concrete, I should be able to balance on the edge of the desk I'd noticed earlier. I could then use the sharp end of the brick to saw through the ropes.

Logically, I knew that in the dim light, the brickwork could look rougher than it was, but I had to try. I wasn't prepared to just hang there and do nothing. I'd go down fighting; we'd faced worse odds during the war and survived. This would be no different.

Carefully, I inched my hands forwards, using the rope between them to slide down the rafter. By the time I'd managed to move a short distance, I was sweating. The beam was perfectly horizontal, and the only way I could move was to swing my body back and then forward, using the momentum to edge along slowly. Gritting my teeth, I swung back again, taking care to hold my hands out as far as I could. My thumb still throbbed from my first attempt; scraping it down the side of the wood at speed had hurt like hell.

Five more swings and I should be there. Luckily, they had secured me to one end of the room rather than in the middle between two vertical support beams, or I would have been screwed, my chance of escape limited to what I could do once my captors returned. If this worked, at least I would be free, and the playing field would be more in my favour. I'd also been gone for far longer than I'd told Heero I would be; I suspected that it was only a matter of time before he came looking for me. Since we'd been together, we had formed a rudimentary empathic connection – it wasn't the same as the almost sixth sense between Trowa and me – but it was uniquely ours, and I was in no doubt that somehow, on some level, he would know that I was in trouble.

Back and forth, then slide. I repeated it to myself over and over, each effort bringing me closer to my goal.

One last slide and I came to a sudden stop, my body jarring as I reached the brick wall. Swinging my legs off to the side, I managed to connect with the desk on my second try and balance my feet on the edge of it. Slamming my hands and the ropes holding them hard against the brickwork, I gasped in pain when something sharp cut into my wrists. Yes, this was going to work; I just knew it.

Quickly I rubbed the ropes against the rough edge of the bricks in a sawing motion, swearing under my breath as my skin caught on the masonry and ripped. But I didn't have time to worry about the pain now. It had taken longer than I'd anticipated to get this far, and my captors would be returning soon.

Warm liquid squelched between my fingers; I was bleeding, but I didn't care. If I didn't manage to free myself, the blood would be the least of my problems. A mental image of Heero smiling down at me as I lay in his arms brushed against my mind, and I pushed it aside. I would get through this; we had many more years ahead of us, and I intended to enjoy each and every one of them with him.

Just a bit more… Come on. Damn it. Break. Growing impatient, I struggled to separate the last strands of rope by using brute force, ignoring the pain shooting through my wrists and arms.

"Crap!" The rope holding me to the beam parted suddenly, and I slipped off the desk, my drop halted by the restraints still binding my hands together. I'd only managed to cut through the rope holding me to the beam; the one lashing my hands together was still intact. I bit down on my lip, trying to stop the cry of pain as the backlash of the jolt sent fire through my shoulders. My hands were supporting my weight; my wrists had crashed down against the rough edge, and I could feel the sharpness of the brick cutting into them. I glanced up, blinking the sweat out of my eyes, and tried to focus, although my vision was blurring. A warm wetness dripped onto my hair, and I realised that it was blood from my wrists. Damn. This wasn't good.

Climbing back onto the desk, I kicked myself upwards and was able to get my upper body above the beam and straddle it. Making short work of the remaining ropes, I examined my hands. They were raw and bleeding but they weren't as bad as I had imagined. The blood was already beginning to clot; I didn't have anything to use as a dressing, and I needed full use of them for what was to come. For now, I'd concentrate on escaping.

Footsteps sounded from outside the room, and I tried to calm my rapid heartbeat and ragged breathing. Slowly, I counted from one to ten, taking a deep breath and exhaling with each count. The door rattled, and I knew that I wasn't going to be allowed the luxury of recovery time.

Wrapping one end of the rope that had been used to bind me around each hand, I waited quietly from my position on the beam for the door to open.

"What the hell?" The man entered the room and walked under the beam. It was only a matter of time before he looked up and saw me. Even without that I couldn't give him the chance to pull his weapon or sound the alert. I dropped one of the pieces of rope; he turned at the movement, and I dived onto him, knocking him off his feet and both of us to the ground. Gripping his shoulders with both hands, I rolled us so that I was on top and then punched him as hard as I could in the jaw. He went out like a light.

Searching him quickly for a weapon, I rolled my eyes in disbelief when I discovered that he was unarmed. That inefficiency was also, unfortunately, my loss, as the rope would have to be my only weapon. My hand brushed against the coarse fabric of his sweater and I winced, swearing under my breath.

"I haven't got time for this," I muttered, ignoring my throbbing hand and shifting my concentration onto loosely wrapping the rope around my waist. Satisfied that I was as prepared as I could be, I opened the door and peered out into the corridor. It was empty. The man that I'd knocked out had probably been sent to check on me. Maybe Kirke hadn't fallen for my protestation of innocence quite as well as I had thought. Either I must be slipping, or he was brighter than I had anticipated.

Whatever the reason was, I needed to get out of this place quickly. It was only a matter of time before one of them realised that their meal ticket had disappeared, and I doubted that these men were prepared to give up however much money they had decided I was worth.

Leaving the room, I shut the door quietly behind me and entered the corridor. I had no idea which direction to take to find the exit; it was very unsporting of them not to leave a sign or at the very least some arrows showing me which way to go. I grinned in spite of the situation. The amount of time that I'd spent in Duo's company over the past five years tended to show when I least expected.

Left or right? Mentally tossing a coin I decided to go right and cautiously began making my way along the corridor towards the door at the end of it. The door was solid wood, and there was no way of telling what was on the other side. All I could do was to offer up a silent prayer and hope that I had made the right decision. Turning the door handle, I knew that I was either one step further towards my freedom or delivering myself into the hands of the enemy. But with my options limited to the room I'd come from or the door on the opposite end of the corridor, I didn't really have much choice. I couldn't hide forever, and hiding wasn't really something that was in my nature. Whatever happened, I'd prefer to fight my way out rather than to sit back and wait to be slaughtered.

The room I found myself in was empty, and I breathed a sigh of relief. It appeared to have once been an office of some kind; there were several empty desks covered in dust pushed against the wall, and a pile of broken chairs stacked in one corner. I scanned my new surroundings, weighing up the possibility of using it as a place to barricade myself in if I needed to retreat in a hurry, depending on what lay on the other side of the next door. My escape path seemed to consist of a series of doors, and I couldn't help but remember a pre-colony game show I'd seen once on old videotapes at Duo and Hilde's. Choose the right door and win, choose the wrong one and lose.

A quick search of the desk drawers only revealed that they were all empty apart from several crumpled pieces of old newsprint. It was time to move on and hope that my luck held.

My fingers on the doorknob, I paused, but wasn't sure why. It's too late now, I told myself. I needed to move forward, not backwards, and although I could take refuge here, it would only be for a limited time. It was better to meet whatever lay behind door number three face on and deal with it as best I could.

Four familiar faces turned to meet mine as I opened the door, but I refused to show my reaction. "Thank you for your hospitality, gentlemen," I said breezily, walking briskly through the room, hoping like hell that the surprise on their faces would buy me some time. "But I'm running late for an appointment and can't stop."

I made it as far as the end of the room when I heard the click of a gun and a fifth man stepped into the doorway and my escape route. His weapon was pointed directly at me, and I didn't like the expression on his face. For some reason Mercer didn't seem particularly pleased to see me. "Hello again, Mr. Winner," he smirked. "I seem to have you at rather a disadvantage."

"You /seem/ to," I answered calmly, raising my hands. His trigger finger seemed somewhat twitchy, and I doubted that he needed much of an excuse to shoot me. "However, if you kill me before you've got your video footage, you can say goodbye to whatever ransom you were planning to collect. Why don't you tell him to lower the gun?" I told Kirke. "You appear to have me outnumbered."

Kirke nodded in Mercer's direction, and the man lowered his weapon, although I could feel his reluctance and his anger. "How did you get out of the cell?" Kirke asked, " and where's Francis?"

"Francis?" I smiled at him. "He would be the man you sent to check on me?" I continued without waiting for an answer. "He's…indisposed at the moment."

"Bastard," muttered Mercer. "I told you that he was dangerous." He glanced down at the rope still tied around my waist and pulled it free. On instinct I grabbed it with my hand and winced, loosening my grip at the burning sensation.

"I'm dangerous?" I folded my hands across my chest, glared at them and adopted the tone I used with board members at WEI when they refused to listen to my point of view. "Gentlemen, you have no idea of the meaning of the word." I laughed, ignoring the fact that my attitude was only making my current situation worse. I was hurt, tired and should have been enjoying a nice bath with my boyfriend about now, not dealing with this crap. "All I've done so far has been defensive, and considering what you've done to me, I've been extremely controlled up to now. Just because you think I'm rich doesn't give you the right to kidnap me and treat me in this manner." There was a slight pain in my chest and then it was gone. I rubbed my hand against the spot without thinking. "I pride myself in being a patient man, but that patience is beginning to wear rather thin."

"I can tell," a dry voice remarked from the open door. "Have you quite finished yet? Your coffee's not going to keep hot forever, you know."

"Love you too, Heero," I mumbled in way of a greeting, but I didn't take my eyes off the men in front of me. Mercer raised his gun again and dropped it as it was shot out of his hand to land on the floor at his feet.

"Are you okay, Quatre?" Heero's voice was calm, but I could feel his anger. Mercer was lucky that Heero had only aimed for his weapon.

"Define okay," I replied. "What took you so long?"

"They broke your cellphone." Heero didn't answer my question, but then, I hadn't expected him to. "The man you tried to save is dead." I raised my head and stared at him in a mixture of surprise that he'd known and regret over my failure to save Peters.

"How did you…?" My voice trailed off, as logic gave me the answer. "I wrapped my coat around him to keep him warm and tried to staunch the blood flow with my jersey." I glanced down and frowned. I hadn't been wearing gloves, but Mercer and his men had. It would be my fingerprints on the body and at the scene of the crime, not theirs. "And it was me who smashed the cellphone," I admitted sheepishly. Heero raised an eyebrow. "I was trying to stop the knife but…"

Kirke took a step towards me; I waited for him to get closer and then grabbed his arm, gritting my teeth against the pain in my hand, pulled him forward and flipped him over my shoulder. "I told you that my patience was wearing thin," I muttered.

"You're injured," Heero commented. One of the men had edged around behind him, and Heero elbowed him in the stomach, then delivered a blow to the back of his neck. The man collapsed on the floor in a heap, losing consciousness almost instantly. "Are you okay to handle a gun?"

"I'm fine," I lied, picking up the gun still lying at Mercer's feet, while Heero covered me. The other men glared at us but hadn't made any move since Heero had taken down their companion. It hurt to hold the weapon, but there was no way I was going to show any sign of weakness in front of these men. Tucking it into my belt, I frisked them and removed their guns, sliding them along the floor to Heero, and out of their reach.

Heero gave me a look that I knew well. He wouldn't question me now, but I'd hear about it once we got home. "These idiots should count themselves lucky that they got you on an off day," he said.

"There's rope over there." I pointed to the desk where Mercer had dropped the rope that he'd taken from me. "Don't worry about being gentle with them."

"I wasn't planning on it," Heero paused and examined the rope. He'd noticed the bloodstains. "They should really pick their so called victims better," he remarked conversationally, his voice hardening.

"I told them that they had no idea who they were dealing with," I agreed. "But they wouldn't listen." I shrugged, and the sides of Heero's mouth twitched. "Their loss."

"Very much their loss," Heero forced Mercer's hands behind his back none too gently. When he'd finished, he used his cell to call the police. The location he gave was fairly close to the distance I'd worked out, and I couldn't help but feel pleased with myself. Heero put his phone back in his pocket and looked at me, his gaze stopping on my hands. "Let me look at those," he said.

"I'm fine," I repeated, examining an interesting paint stain on the concrete floor.

"Quatre," Heero's voice was harsh, and I looked up at him, a sudden wave of guilt washing over me. "You're hurt. I want to see."

"I'll be okay," I tried to reassure him. "And this was my fault, not yours. I was sloppy."

"I never said that it was," Heero walked over to me and placed both my hands in his, examining them carefully. He turned to glare at Kirke and the others. Kirke went completely still and turned his head away. The way people reacted to that glare always amused me, but then I'd seen a side of Heero that others hadn't. It was probably a good thing that Kirke didn't know that he was in the custody of two Gundam pilots. He seemed nervous enough as it was. "I know you, Quatre. It wouldn't have mattered what I'd said if I'd been there, you still would have tried to save him, or anyone in trouble."

"Are you implying that I don't listen to you?" I tried to sound indignant but didn't succeed. I leaned over and kissed his hands, and he passed his thumb gently over my injuries, taking care not to hurt me.

"No, I'm reminding you that you're often too stubborn for your own good and that you care too much for others." Heero's voice softened. "You need to take better care of yourself."

"I won't break," I protested.

"Everyone breaks." Heero was stating what he perceived to be a fact; he tended to say what he thought and not waste time trying to placate anyone, including me. "Our tolerance levels might be more than most people's, but even we have our limits. Forgetting that can be dangerous."

"I didn't have a choice." Although I knew that Heero was only showing his concern, I didn't need a lecture. I decided to change the subject. "We need to tell the police where to find Peters. And I'm going to have some explaining to do." I had the decency to look sheepish. "I'm afraid I didn't exactly act the part of the poor defenseless CEO before Kirke showed up. I doubt that the police are going to buy the same story that he did."

Kirke made a weird strangled noise, and Heero and I both glared at him. He shut up immediately.

"You could always tell the truth," Heero said. "It would save a lot of problems long term, if you want to avoid being suspected of murder."

I looked at him in surprise. "The truth?" I shook my head. The last thing I needed, or any of us needed, was our identities as Gundam pilots to be made public.

"Of course." Heero seemed deep in thought. "After all it makes sense for the CEO of Winner Enterprises to have taken self defense lessons, especially with your determination to not let your identity stand in the way of leading a normal life." He chuckled. "Or maybe we should rephrase that. I have a difficult time thinking of any of us in the same sentence as normal."

"But…" My mind was racing. This could work. I gave Heero a smile. "Actually this might be just what I need. People will think twice about underestimating me after this." I held up my hands. "Capable of defending myself but not enough to arouse suspicion."

"Exactly." Heero nodded. "Drawing conclusions about people based on preconceptions and appearances has always been a dangerous practice, especially where you're concerned. A little breadcrumb thrown to the masses might be…amusing."

The idea appealed to me the more I thought about it. I was tired of being thought of as someone I wasn't, of being underestimated and treated as though I was a naïve rich boy who needed protecting from the world around him.

But for the moment, I just wanted this night to be over. I was exhausted and ached in places that I'd forgotten existed.

I leaned in closer to Heero, and he put his arms around me. The police would be arriving shortly, and any hopes of hot coffee and spending the evening the way I'd originally planned would disappear.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I've ruined our evening." I gave him a quick kiss before pulling away reluctantly, already mentally preparing myself for the questions that the police might ask.

"No," Heero said. "You haven't." He pointed to my former captors. "They ruined our evening, because they were stupid enough to underestimate you." He paused, his eyes never leaving the bound men. "They won't be making that mistake again."

I'd spent a day frustrated by people underestimating me, and really, what did it matter what they thought? The one person who truly mattered simply accepted me for who I was and loved me in spite of it.

With Heero I could be myself; I didn't have to pretend. I had complained about people underestimating me and yet I used it in my favour when it suited me. Once word of this reached the press, that tactic would no longer work.

"No," I told Heero. "They won't be making that mistake again. No one will."

Fin


End file.
